Why Romance Must Die!

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Please Do Not Make Romance to Me!
by: Davita Cuttita

I hate romance.

I am not a very affectionate, touchy-feely person. I’m not into holding/locking arms in public with the boyfriend, watching romance movies or candlelit dinners. I don’t play that shit—period.

Eversince I was a little gremlin, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the whole romance thing. All the little girls would get together with their Barbies, prancing and doing whatever the fuck it is Barbie does; I don’t know. Me? I had an action figure of “Slimy” from the Ghostbusters and when the little princesses would put their Barbies together to go shoe shopping, cackling and imitating twittering, empty-headed conversation (they’d just go “Dyuh-yuh-yuh-blah-blah-blah” which is most of what women say anyway) all the while; Slimy would be there too. He’d float above them obscurely, unwelcome; completely unable to try on the fancy fuchsia shoes with his ghost tail (although I made sure he was rather vocal about wanting to go shoe shopping too in an evil, monster-like voice of course).

No.

Instead he would follow the Barbies around and observe with his head cocked to the side in curiosity as they took turns trying on the same damn shoe, over and over again, pretending it was a different colour. They’d chat about how they were going to impress Ken and how he was so fucking wonderful but if Slimy said anything he’d get that gaze–that plastic, manufactured gaze with a fake smile and eyes that see right through you. Eyes covered in eye shadow and mascara, applied ever so carefully; perfectly–sparkling like diamonds but with no soul. Then he’d demand pizza and I’d shove the tiny, plastic imitation into his face. GAR-GAR-GAR-GAR! (I dunno, I thought that was the eating noise when I was a kid). Then they’d compare nails; Barbie’s, covered in a beautiful pink, perfectly manicured by the machine that made her and Slimy’s; some of his fingers flattened or missing from when I chewed on them out of boredom.

At the end of the day it was all for Ken.

Ken; the world’s hottest (and smallest!) man without a dick.

All this effort of walking about trying on shoes, cooking, primping and asking Barbies #2 and #4 for beauty tips to impress the dickless Ken who would sweep Barbie off her feet, drive her off to his mansion and tear off her clothes and…talk to her. You know, about his day.

Even so, if Ken did have a nice penis it wouldn’t matter. Do you know why?

Because of damned romance.

Let’s re-do the scenario, shall we? All right, so Ken has a mighty dick now, like, it would win the Oscars. He’s handsome enough right? He talks to Barbie, takes her out for dinner a couple of times, she racks up his credit card bill and finally gets those D-cups she wanted. Time flies, a good amount has passed and they’re still together. So now Ken’s one-eyed monster starts sending him messages but he’s a classy fellow so he’s discreet about his wants to kiss Barbie and toss her salad for a while. He leans in sweetly, peppering his requests appropriately to moisten; not frighten Barbie’s poontang. But then Barbie goes, “Oh no, I want the moment to be perfect. We should be {insert location} and {insert random want}”

And Ken goes “But I thought you liked me?” while Barbie responds “Yeah, I LOVE you and I would really like to {insert sexual act here} but it has to be PERFECT”. At this point, if I were Ken I’d say “Bitch, get the fuck outta my car!” but Ken’s a decent guy so he’ll respect Barbie’s wishes, abandon his back-up plan involving rohypnol, take her home and then spend his time and energy trying to get this “perfect moment” thing right as Barbie continues doing the same while occasionally blowing Ronald McDonald in the alley for free cheeseburgers.

Do you see what I’m getting at here!? Do you see how this is total fuckery for both parties?

From childhood, girls are conditioned to believe that love is supposed to work by a certain formula and if you don’t follow the formula, you’d better like cats—they’re the only ones who’d be willing to share their lives with insubordinate bitches. We are conditioned to believe that if we consciously follow our impulses we’re doing something wrong. Now I am NOT advocating for sex on the street corner or irresponsible/unsafe sex. Nor am I saying it’s wrong to put out a little effort to wow your loved one and express your affection; by all means, please do so! But if something feels right to both parties and the setting is appropriate, why do so many women (and guys too, you never know) hold off and try to make these things “perfect”?

We need to have perfect everything—perfect hair, perfect weight, perfect sex, perfect kids, perfect houses, perfect careers, perfect spouses, perfect scores—the list goes on and is absolutely ridiculous.

The romance standard is just like reading a magazine. Women look at those girls with the perky/flat asses, superman abs and kinda-there titties, then they say to themselves“I want to look like her” but when they pick up a romance novel or watch some bullshit like…what romance movies are there? Shit, I’m supposed to know this! Uh…um…YES! “The Notebook”, they think to themselves “I want to love like her.” This is all fiction of course, but we beat ourselves up over this mess everyday and when we’re not doing that we’re dragging our boyfriends/husbands out to watch this shit and cry at them nonsensically while asking them loaded questions like “Would you do the same thing to me if you were him?” or “Do you love me like that?”

Firstly: what kind of a questions are those? How is this supposed to make either of us happy? You’re sobbing and feel like you’re not good enough or like something’s missing from your lives while he’s feeling inadequate, awkward, annoyed and possibly flaccid.

Ladies, get over it. Take a deep breath, fasten up your bra straps and fix your weave; whatever. Relax. Trying to make everything perfect is going to drive you crazy and your man to that hooker with herpes or that bitch at the office who is trying to destroy you, but acts like she isn’t (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, HOE!).

I write this ‘cuz it took what felt like forever for me to kiss my boyfriend ex-boyfriend for the first time. I wanted the moment to be “perfect”. In the train station? No, it’s not romantic enough. By the harbour front? Nah, it’s too cold out for kisses. In the parking lot? Ugh! Under the bridge? Over the bridge? Nope. Suddenly I realized that I was caught up in the same romance shit I’d been running from. ME. I never watch romantic movies, soap operas or read romance novels. I eat steak with a vengeance and drink Guinness like a man. I love movies with gore, explosions and lots of kung-fu with a couple of jokes thrown in for good measure. But somehow I was caught up in THE SAME THING I HATE WITH THE PASSION OF A THOUSAND BURNING SUNS and I felt like a total idiot. So what did I do? You best believe the next time I got him alone I was in his lap giving him a taste of hot chocolate he’ll never forget. I’ve yet to experience coitus (I’ve heard great things, though!) but you best believe if and when that time ever comes none of this romance will fly. No, no–just throw me on the kitchen counter, shove me in the back seat, come into the shower with me–whatever. As long as we’re both sincere about it.

There, I said it.

Nothing in life will ever be perfect. Real relationships have their ups and downs. Maybe  someday I’ll wake up next to someone and wonder what the hell I’ve done and want to pour arsenic into his morning tea. On the other hand though, I might wake up the day after that and wonder how I found someone so great and make him his favourite meal despite how tedious and trying Jamaican cuisine can be.

I don’t do the romance thing. Be open—just say and do what you mean, no games. Sometimes a significant other can be the sugar in our icing and other times they’re just shit and you want to kill them in their sleep.

And that’s OK. Really and truly it is. Because we’re human and sometimes our emotions can get a little extreme like that.

It’s called love.

We need to break free from the formula of romance and focus more on how we can really love a person—without the ridiculous standards from some far-fetched fantasy, without the fear of a moment being awkward or not being good enough. We need to just set all that ablaze and just make a leap of faith; JUMP and enjoy.

Get over it and go for it.

Goodluck!

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~ by davitacuttita on March 6, 2008.

5 Responses to “Why Romance Must Die!”

  1. Cheers, davita! Fantastic.

  2. LOL!

    This post is awesome.

    I believed in romance up until 20 or so, and then I realized I had been brainwashed by fictional books, movies, and TV. Yeah, I’m a little slow, although most women I know are still like that. :/

  3. Haha, hey Restructure! Thanks a lot for reading.

    I’m 21 and just ended the relationship above due to my inability to put up with other people’s bullshit, but I still stand firmly by what I wrote.

    Romance sucks so let’s just be human and do what humans do! We’ll laugh, we’ll cry, we might succeed or fail but in the end we did it with our whole hearts and sincerity without all the stupid ideals and bullshit.

  4. There’s a theory that romance is manufactured by Hallmark and its ilk. I would love to find you a source on that, but I can’t. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. In the meanwhile, studies show romantic comedy fans are more likely to be disappointed in their relationship if it’s not perfect.

    It’s going to be tough trying to take the romance out of people’s lives (pun not intended), but … i’m not sure we can. Not only because we’re too entrenched in it, but because tons of people already have their money and livelihood invested in it … and when that happens, you know it’s going to take a long time to get rid of it.

    I’ll admit it: i read my share of romance novels. Not really for any guide to (lack of) relationships, but because they’re so over the top, they’re simply hilarious.

    girl: … and i certainly don’t recall you kissing me last night.
    girl: what are you doing?
    guy: reminding you.

    Perhaps people should understand the difference between fantasy and reality, and try not be disappointed when they don’t match up.

  5. Hello, thinkingwillgetyouintotrouble!

    Grandpa has informed me that you’re a boy. Oooh! PENIS!!

    Yup, the romance ideal is a bigass waste of time but it sure does rake in the dollars from dissatisfied women/gay men. Love is not perfect but that’s what makes it so great–cuz it kinda happens any which way and doesn’t play by anyone’s rules. ^_^

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